


Grump

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Growing Old Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Uncommunicative Lumps, the fluffiest of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 04:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: John Sheppard communicates a lot even when he doesn't.  (In which Rodney is an awesome boything...person...guything.)





	Grump

Rodney was lying in bed correcting the latest journals from the American Physical Society when the door slid opened and Sheppard walked in. Well, 'lurched' would be a better way to put it. Sheppard was covered in mud, his shirt had come untucked from his torn pants, and he had a long scratch on his neck and what looked to be muddy twigs in his hair.

"I take it things went well?" Rodney said with a smirk.

Shepherd let out a grunt and dropped his grungy jacket to the floor. Rodney debated calling him on it, but let it go when he heard Sheppard's wheezed sigh as he creaked toward their bathroom. 

"Tragic," Rodney said and went back to his editing.

He was deep in red ink when the wet slap of bare feet made him look up. Sheppard stood in the bathroom doorway, a towel loosely clutched around his narrow hips. Now that he was naked and clean, the damage was plainly evident. He was blossoming with bruises and puffy red scratches and had what looked like road rash along his left side.

Rodney tsked, and John gave him a glare that could laser through steel. With a pained groan, he tossed his towel on his jacket and shuffled toward their bed.

Rodney enjoyed the view, such as it was. "I hope you put some ointment on those."

John grunted in the affirmative and teetered before toppling to the bed like a mighty oak. He let out a long, relieved sigh that ended on a whine, and started worming his way closer to Rodney without using his arms.

Rodney watched with amusement and put his journal aside in time for John's face to land on his stomach. John then proceeded to loop his arm around Rodney's waist and squeeze him like a child would a beloved plush toy. 

"R'nomy," John mumbled into his shirt. "Aaaah." He rubbed his cheek against Rodney's belly and stared up at him plaintively. He thumped his hand against Rodney's arm.

"Are you...seriously? Are you seriously begging me for pets like a spoiled chihuahua?" 

John pouted and made a disgruntled noise.

Rodney sighed dramatically and buried his fingers in John's thick, damp hair. "Honestly." 

Letting out a happy groan, John turned his head and nudged up under Rodney's hand, then tightened his arm around Rodney's waist.

"You know," Rodney mused, "I had a pet Manx when I was a kid who used to wriggle his entire body under my arm, so before I knew it I was petting him head to butt. You kind of remind me of him."

John harrumphed.

"Did you just 'harrumph' at me like old man Peterson, who wouldn't shut up about The Great Fire of Toronto?"

"Eh," John said, the heat of his breath seeping through Rodney's shirt.

"I thought so. And look at you, using a whole word." Rodney scratched his fingers through John's scalp just to watch him wriggle. "So, I guess no more tackle football with scads of healthy, beefy, twenty-year-old marines, all of whom are your subordinates and just waiting for a chance to crush the quarterback into the mud?"

John let out a long, convoluted whine meant to convey, Rodney believed, the unfairness of forty-year-old knees, unstable, muddy playing conditions, having a strong and fast but not overly muscular frame, and big meanie noncoms who might have it in for their perfectly amenable, cooler than fuck commanding officers. John finished with a disgruntled huff and flopped his head over to offer the other side for more attention. 

In addition to letting Rodney see John's face, this exposed the scratch on John's neck, which really was a beaut. Rodney hissed and traced the unbroken skin next to it. 

"That's a bad one. Did you put Neosporin on it?"

John's mouth curved fondly. "Yes, mom."

Rodney scowled. "I'm just checking. I wouldn't want my, my boy—guy—friend to be permanently marred."

"Your guyfriend?"

"It's a perfectly legitimate term."

"No, I like it. Guyfriend." John smiled then yawned. "Want a handjob?"

"What, to seal our Facebook status? I don't think you could stay awake long enough."

"I could so." John stuck his lower lip out.

"Like I'm willing to risk my dick on it. C'mere." Rodney took off his reading glasses and coaxed John, still groaning softly to himself and muttering about cleats and offsides, to lie next to Rodney so he could have access to that pouty lower lip. Rodney sucked on it and John opened up with a happy sigh and let him in. 

"Thanks for the head rub."

"It was a tremendous chore."

"Hmm-hmm." John started to run his hand up Rodney's back but stopped with a wince. 

"I'll rub you down with some Tiger Balm in the morning."

John made a complaining grunt. 

"Oh, not this again." Rodney smirked. "It's just some sore muscles, not the sign of the apocalypse."

"'Kay," John said, and put his head on Rodney's arm. "You're the best, uh, friendguy."

"If you fall asleep with wet hair, it's going to look like a thresher ate you."

"Mmph. Don't _care_."

"All right. Go to sleep, Pinky."

"Narf."

 

.............................  
April 10, 2019  
San Francisco, CA

**Author's Note:**

> Just Say Narf: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-Q-aeF5UPk>


End file.
